Christmas Is Coming (Will You Be There?)
by theoriginalbookthief07
Summary: "Christmas is coming, the bells are ringing, hope comes alive as music fills the air...I hear the drumming, it won't be long now, Christmas is coming, will you be there? Christmas is coming, will you be there?" The Avengers never do anything normally. Why should Christmas be any different? A Christmas Anthology that spans the whole of my series. Eighth in the ChristyVerse.
1. I'll Give the World to You

**Hello to all! Welcome to the ChristyVerse! If you have no idea what that means, please check out my profile! Otherwise, literally none of this chapter will make sense.**

 **To everyone who knows what the ChristyVerse means, welcome back! I promised you a Christmas Anthology, and behold, I have delivered! Mostly 'cause**

 **I LOVE CHRISTMAS!**

 **And I need a break from end-of-semester insanity. You will know when my semester is over by the increase in posting...**

 **So, this little oneshot is reaching PRETTY far back into the 'Verse. It's sort of like an in-between filler for chapter 16 of We Can Be Found, so you might want to read that chapter for a refresher. Basically, it's Steve's first Christmas with a kid and Christy's first Christmas with a dad, and they're both trying to find the Best Gift Ever, with a little help. This is set December of 2012 (DANG that seems so long ago...).**

 **Also, when I first started writing, I was unaware that APPARENTLY the Marvel TV canon and the MCU canon are not one and the same. But I think that's stupid, so in this 'Verse, they are the same. Coulson's currently parenting-sorry _leading_ -the band of happy misfits (*cough* _Agents of SHIELD *_ cough*) and the gang knows he's alive. **

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Christmas is Coming (Will You be There?)

Chapter One: I'll Give the World to You

Clint came down to the Common Floor to find Steve sitting on one of the couches, pen and notepad in hand. A laptop sat on the coffee table in front of him.

"You know, Rogers, there's these things called _Word Documents_ …"

Steve didn't even glance up. "Either give me ideas of what to give Christy for Christmas, Barton, or keep your trap shut."

"Duly noted." Clint sat down on the adjacent couch. "Got any ideas for what you want to give her?"

 _Now_ Steve glanced up, looking sheepish. "I…the world? Does that work?"

Clint grinned. "I think 'the world' is a little hard to gift wrap."

Steve didn't _glare_ per se, he just raised his eyebrow and gave his signature "I'm very disappointed in you" look.

"Right, right; help or scram. Uh…" Clint trailed off, trying to think of what he was getting Lila for Christmas. "Doll?"

Steve made a face. "She already has _two_ , how many does she need?"

 _You'd be surprised…_ Clint thought, picturing Lila's room. "Okay, maybe doll _clothes_. I know she's kinda a tomboy, but she does play with dolls, right?"

"Yeah, she does…she'll spend _hours_ in her room, and I'll come in and she's doing God-knows-what…" Steve's face started slipping into an expression of fond parental nostalgia.

Clint cut him off gently. "Focus, Rogers. What about stuffed animals? I know she likes those."

"That could work…oh." Steve stopped. The look on his face was almost embarrassed. "You know those teddy bears they sell, dressed up like us—the Avengers, I mean?"

Clint smirked. "You mean the ones dressed like _you_? The _Captain AmeriBears?_ "

"Yeah, those. She was lookin' at them when we went out last weekend."

"Sounds like the perfect present for Captain America's daughter."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he wrote the item on his list.

"I guess my problem is that everything seems so…store-bought. Which, that's not _necessarily_ bad, but…"

"Welcome to the 21st century." Clint muttered sardonically. Louder, he added, "You wanna make her something?"

"I think so, but I don't know what."

Clint shrugged. "Why don't ya draw her something? You like art, right? Make her a picture."

"A picture of _what_?"

"Hey, you're the artist, not me! Just…make it mean something."

Steve nodded. "You're right. I just…I wanna give her everything. She's had a pretty hard year and I…I wanna give her the world. Make sure she's happy and safe and knows that I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Clint's heart gave a small pang, remembering how he had felt after Cooper was born. He had been terrified of screwing up—not even wanting to hold his new son, for fear of dropping him. Given his less than stellar upbringing, the feelings were understandable, but Laura had eventually talked him out of his fear.

"I know you do." Clint said quietly. "But Steve…you're _already_ doing that. Every day that you're _here_ and _real_ and _alive_ …you give her that." He smiled a little. "'Sides, you gotta save something to give her next year."

Steve gave a matching half-smile. "I know, I know. And Clint…thanks."

Clint nodded. "Anytime." he said firmly.

Steve had been a lot better since Christy's adoption, but Clint knew he still suffered from nightmares and culture shock and the perils of living seventy years out of time. So he had made it his mission from the minute Steve turned up at the Tower to befriend and check in on the younger man as much as possible.

Holidays could be rough times of the year for those who had experienced trauma. But Clint was hoping that this Christmas would prove better for his friend.

So far, his hopes looked to be coming true.

* * *

Phil Coulson was sitting in the Common Floor of Avengers Tower as he sometimes did, when he didn't have a mission or a team to deal with. Natasha was currently out, and he was waiting for her to return so they could discuss something.

He was far from bored, however, due to a certain fidgety blonde ball of energy named Christy.

Currently, she was sitting at the kitchen table and staring off into space. Every so often, she would give a loud sigh and flop her arms down dramatically.

The first time was funny. The second and third times were a little annoying. But by the fourth time, Coulson was more than a little concerned.

"You okay, kid?" he asked. "You want your dad?"

Christy twisted around in the chair. "Dad's with Aunt Tasha. I think they're buying Christmas presents." She gave a mischievous grin. "So tonight, I can practice my spy skills and figure out where he hides them!"

Coulson laughed. "So what's with all the sighing?"

Christy frowned. "I dunno what to get Dad for Christmas. I mean, I sorta got him something already, but it's a secret plan with Uncle Tony, so I can't put it under the tree."

"Ah. I see." Coulson lowered his head into his hands in a "thinking" posture. Inside, he felt almost as giddy as a child.

 _I swear, if someone had told me two years ago that I would be giving suggestions for_ _ **Captain**_ _ **America's**_ _Christmas present…_

"Do you have anything in mind?" he asked calmly, his voice betraying none of his inner glee.

Christy shook her head. "Nuh-uh. That's why I was sighing a lot. I know what I _wanna_ give him. But I can't put that under the tree, either!"

"What do you want to give him?"

"The forties!" Christy replied in a "duh" tone.

Coulson bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah…I guess a decade is a little hard to gift-wrap, huh?"

"Super hard. I already asked Uncle Tony if he could build a time machine. He said he's good, but not that good."

Coulson rolled his eyes. _I can see him saying that, too…_

"Well…" he said slowly. "If you can't bring him to the forties, maybe bring the forties to him."

Christy looked confused. "Whaddya mean?"

Coulson grinned. "I _mean_ , find him something from that time. Like in an antique store or something. There's plenty of those in this city."

Christy's confusion melted off her face. "Oh, yeah! That's _perfect_! Maybe…maybe I could find some old Christmas ornaments. I think he was upset we didn't have any. He had to buy new ones. I mean, at least I have a couple from Mom, but…he didn't have any."

Halfway through Christy's ramblings, Coulson's mind exploded with a memory.

 _Smithsonian Museum of American History. Special Exhibit: The Life of Steve Rogers—Captain America._

He'd been in D.C. that weekend. This was several years before the thawing incident. The exhibit had been small, nothing like the grand spectacle currently under construction, but Coulson hadn't cared. It was an exhibit about his hero after all…

"I…think I might be able to get on that." he said faintly.

Christy looked over at him. "Really?! You know where we can find old Christmas ornaments?"

"Better." Coulson pulled out his cell phone. "I know where we can get _his_ old Christmas ornaments."

In the end, it only took about half an hour of calling around before Coulson reached someone pertinent.

"I don't _care_ if they were donated and are legally the property of the Museum! Are you trying to tell me that the greatest war hero of the Greatest Generation doesn't even merit the courtesy of getting his own damn _Christmas ornaments_ back? Not to mention whatever else you've got holed up in your archives! While he was gone, it rightfully belonged to you, but Steve Rogers is alive and well, and he's already had enough stolen from him!"

The woman on the other end hemmed and hawed but finally agreed to release the items—with proper documentation.

"I will be in D.C. in three days. I will have the proper documentation." Coulson vowed. "You just worry about having those things ready. Alright. Fine. Thank you for your time."

He hung up and turned to face a stunned-looking Christy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Christy said. "Well…you sounded kinda mad."

Coulson smirked. "Bureaucracy is not my favorite. Which makes my work for SHIELD even _more_ hilarious…"

"What's bureaucracy?"

"Basically…a lot of people in suits with a lot of rules and paperwork, most of which seems or outright is pointless."

Christy nodded. "Oookay…I think I understand."

"You'll get it more when you're older."

Christy gave a tiny growl. "I hate it when people say that! I wanna understand _now_!"

Coulson sighed and moved for a distraction. "Need any more present advice?"

"No…I think I'm good." Christy started to count on her fingers. "Aunt Tasha, Uncle Clint, Uncle Bruce, Uncle Tony, Aunt Maria, you…"

"What are you getting me?" Coulson asked teasingly.

"Not telling!" Christy sing-songed. "Oh, and Uncle Nick. So I'm good."

Curiosity getting the best of him, Coulson asked, "Just what _did_ you get for Fury?"

Christy looked down sheepishly. "Uncle Clint helped me…"

Coulson held up his hand. "Say no more! I can wait 'till Christmas to find out!"

 _If Clint's involved, this will be hilarious. He knows the kid can get away with murder…_

"So, my idea was good?" he continued.

Christy nodded. "Yeah…I think so. You were right. If I can't give him the forties, I'll give him stuff from then. And maybe stuff from now, too. So he knows that it's not all bad now…"

 _Oh, I think he knows that._ Coulson smiled. _He found that out on November 5_ , _2012…_

* * *

It was late at night, about a week out from Christmas. Christy was sound asleep and Steve was taking advantage of this by sitting at the bar counter on their floor with his sketchpad open in front of him.

 _"_ _Just…make it mean something."_

Steve groaned a little. "Easy for you to say, Barton."

What could he possibly draw that would convey every shade of his newly-awakened love?

He had loved quite a few people over the course of his life: his mother, Bucky, Peggy…

But nothing had prepared him for the all-consuming ache that fatherhood brought—especially coming on the heels of prolonged loneliness.

When he'd met Christy, he'd still been capable of care and affection, but his heart had been atrophied and shrunken ever since…no, even before the ice.

Part of it had shrunk the moment Bucky disappeared forever off that cliff.

Steve shook himself. _Bad timing, Rogers! Don't go there tonight! Focus!_

He heaved himself out of the bar chair and peeked into Christy's room. Silently, he crept up to the side of her bed and watched her face, which looked pale in the moonlight.

 _It's not creepy_. He thought at the mocking feeling inside him. _Besides, nothing could be as bad as the night I woke up and found her standing over me…_

Because, as Christy had said:

 _"_ _I…I wanted to make sure you were still breathing…"_

Thankfully, those types of nights had dwindled down to a small handful. But it had still caused Steve a near heart attack.

"You're okay…" he whispered, barely louder than a breath. "You're gonna be okay. I'll take care of you, and you'll be okay. I found you…"

And suddenly, he knew what to draw.

The image slammed into his brain, like some ecstatic vision sent from heaven itself.

Quiet as possible, he snuck out of the room and back to his sketchpad. A memory was playing on repeat in his head.

 _"_ _I want to be found…that's what I keep dreamin', that this is all a big game of hide-n-seek, and someday, Mommy will come and grab me and say 'found you!' And we'll go home."_

 _And we'll go home…_

Home. Because of her, that was what this ridiculously oversized floor in this "big, ugly building in New York" was. A home.

He grabbed a sharpened pencil and set to work, the image taking shape under his careful hand.

First came a closet—that was easy. Then came a small figure, hunched and bent in two, crouched in the darkness.

Last came a man, bending down beside the closet door, arms stretched out wide.

Driven by artist's frenzy as he was, it took him less than an hour to sketch the whole thing. When he finished, he felt a bubble of pride well up in his chest.

 _Yeah…this is good. This means something._

"Found you." he whispered, brushing pencil dust off the paper. "Found you for good."

* * *

 **Annnd cue the chorus of "awws". Hope that was worth the wait. It was fun for me to go "back to the beginning," as it were.  
**

 **Tune in next time for "I'll be home for Christmas," Barton family style. (As in, Clint _actually_ makes it home for Christmas...) Until then...**

 **Reviews are wonderful things...**


	2. I'll Be Home For Christmas

**(*Borrows Tom Holland's Spiderman Voice*) Hey, everybody!**

 **I have emerged from the depths of finals week to bring you this sappy, heartstrings-tugging, wreck of a chapter. It's set during Christmas 2013, so just before all hell breaks loose with CA: Winter Soldier.  
**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Two: "I'll Be Home For Christmas"

"Mommy? When's Daddy coming home?"

Laura Barton stifled a frustrated sigh as Lila asked that question for what felt like the millionth time this week.

"I told you, honey, he'll be home when he finishes his mission. He had to go beat up some bad guys."

Lila frowned, her tiny face puckered up almost adorably. "But I want him home now!"

"Well, that's just not possible, sweetie. He's a long way from here. He'll be home as soon as he can, you know that…"

Lila's frown grew even deeper, and she ran out of the kitchen.

"Honey, don't slam the—"

It was too late. The door to Lila's room crashed shut with an almighty bang.

Feeling utterly drained, Laura glanced at the stove clock. It was 3:00, almost time to pick up Cooper from school.

 _One more year, and then Lila can start Kindergarten…_

Her extroverted youngest was enrolled in a preschool program, but it only ran three times a week. Which meant that the remaining four days were spent at home, with a brother that often preferred to read or play on his own, and a mom that sometimes felt like a single parent.

She didn't begrudge Clint his job (and SHIELD's pay wasn't too shabby, either), but there were days that she just wanted to lay down and sleep for an eternity.

But sleep was currently not an option. So, steeling herself, Laura went and knocked on Lila's bedroom door.

"Lila? C'mon, honey, we have to go get Cooper from school. You know I can't leave you home by yourself."

A shuffling sound came from inside the room, and the door opened slowly. Lila's face was streaked with tears.

"I want Daddy." she mumbled.

Laura sighed, and picked up her daughter. "I know. I want your Dad home, too. But that doesn't mean you get to run around and slam doors."

"Sorry…" Lila said. "But Mom…what if he's not home for Christmas?"

Suddenly everything made much more sense.

"Oh, sweetie, is that what you're worried about?"

Lila nodded.

"Okay…" Laura shifted so Lila could see her face. "Your Dad will be home for Christmas. You know he always is. He might have to take a few risks, but he'll be home."

"But…but Christmas is next week!" Lila cried plaintively. "An' you said planes take a long time!"

"They do, but your Dad…he has special planes. They go faster than normal ones." Laura smoothed back her daughter's hair. "Don't you worry. He'll be home soon."

"How soon?" Lila demanded, as Laura started walking towards the front door.

"Before Christmas." Was all Laura could think to say.

Truthfully, it was the only answer she felt safe giving.

When she and Clint had gotten married, he had made one thing clear to his superiors: Christmas vacations were non-negotiable. Thankfully, he was one of their most trusted agents, so he had some bargaining leeway.

(And, his handler was Coulson, who was an absolute sap for family togetherness.)

Which meant that, come hell or high water, Clint Barton always made it home for Christmas.

Usually, he made it back by Christmas Eve. A few years, he hadn't even been on a mission, so he'd been home sooner. Once or twice, he'd cut it close, like the year he landed a helicopter in the field behind their house at three a.m. on Christmas morning.

But the exact dates never mattered because he was _home_ , just like he promised every year. Even if he (unwillingly) missed all their birthdays, Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, and Thanksgiving—for Christmas, he would be there.

And as Laura strapped Lila into her car seat and put the key into the ignition, she felt more grateful than ever for that promise.

* * *

"Laura?"

It was Friday, the last day of school for both Lila and Cooper before Christmas vacation. Laura had been enjoying the abnormal peace and quiet, when she'd gotten a phone call from Coulson.

"Phil?" her heart was pounding. "Is something wrong."

Coulson gave a long sigh. "Clint should have been back two days ago, and…he's gone off the radar. He had to go deep cover for this assignment anyway, and, well…we don't exactly know where he is or why he isn't back yet."

The words were spoken as gently as possible, but they still felt like tiny daggers, ripping into every part of her.

"I…I understand." Laura said quietly.

She had known the risks when she married a spy. Clint had made no bones about the dangers of his work—actually, he'd _over_ exaggerated, until she'd asked in exasperation if he was _trying_ to get her to break up with him.

Over the years, there had been a few nail-biting times, but never _now_ …

"He left all of your presents with me before he went out." Coulson continued, sympathy etched in his tone. "Do you want…Natasha's coming your way, right?"

"She will, if she knows what's good for her. Don't tell me she's signed up to man some office on Christmas Day."

"Not so far as I know." Coulson's words carried the mental image of a smirk. "I'll tell her she's got until Wednesday to get down there. Or up there, I guess, since she's still in D.C." he snorted. "Pitiful. Even Rogers is back in New York."

The banter was a well-meaning distraction, but Laura's mind was still on Clint, far away and possibly in danger…

"Phil, are you sure you have nothing…?"

Coulson sighed. "Laura, I swear, if I knew anything else, I would tell you. Best case scenario is he somehow got out of tracking range. Worst…maybe just don't think about the worst."

"Alright…"

Laura's voice must have sounded as shaky as she felt, because Coulson said firmly, "I'm calling Natasha _now_. She'll be there this weekend. Until then, if you need anything, call me. Okay?"

Taking a deep breath, Laura nodded. "Okay."

She hung up, her mind whirling.

 _What am I…I can't tell the kids, Lila's worried enough as it is and they don't need to know..._

 _Oh, God, what if he's hurt? Or wounded? Or_ _ **dying**_ _?! Or captured by some crazy fanatic!_

 _Why does it have to be_ _ **my**_ _husband?! Why?! Why me?!_

She had left the radio turned on to a station playing Christmas music earlier, and now the soft strains of music echoed in the room.

 _"_ _I am dreaming tonight of a place I love_

 _Even more than I usually do_

 _And although I know it's a long road back_

 _I promise you…"_

"No!" Laura cried, howling in frustration. _Why_ _ **this**_ _song?! Of all the songs…_

 _"_ _I'll be home for Christmas_

 _You can count on me_

 _Please have snow and mistletoe_

 _And presents on the tree…_

 _Christmas Eve will find you_

 _Where the love light gleams_

 _I'll be home for Christmas_

 _If only in my dreams…"_

Overcome, Laura buried her head in her hands and gave a long, heaving sob.

 _You promised…you_ _promised_ _…Clint, you **promised…**_

* * *

"Mom? Dad's gonna be here for Christmas…right?"

It was Tuesday, Christmas Eve. Natasha was sitting in the living room with Lila, coloring and being a good distraction. Laura was finishing up dinner and Cooper was setting the table.

Laura sighed. "I…"

"I know he gets home late sometimes, but…he's always home for Christmas. So, he should be home tonight, right?"

Cooper's question sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anything.

"Because he always comes home…right, mom?"

Her son sounded on the verge of tears.

Laura turned away from the vegetables she was cutting and sat down at the table. "Come here, bud."

Cooper ran and latched onto her tightly, his breath hitching in his throat.

"You…you looked really sad when Auntie Nat came and even last week, when you picked us up from school, so I thought maybe…"

Laura shook her head. Cooper _would_ be the one to see through her happy façade of "oh look, guys, Auntie Nat's here!".

"Bud…I got a call from Mr. Coulson on Friday."

"Is Dad dead?!"

 ** _"No."_** Laura spoke the word with utmost ferocity, as though she could keep Clint alive through sheer willpower. "No, Cooper, your father is _not dead_. He's just…a little too undercover. Mr. Coulson said maybe he lost his tracker."

Cooper was breathing less erratically now. "M-maybe a bad guy shot it off with a gun."

"Yeah, maybe so. All they know right now is that he missed the day he was supposed to be back. And that's it."

"So…so maybe he'll still be back by tomorrow?"

Laura felt a lump catch in her throat. "Maybe, bud. You know he'll try."

Cooper nodded. "It'll be okay, Mom. H-he'll be home."

"Oh…" Laura smoothed his hair down and kissed his forehead. "My brave boy. Would you like to help me finish the vegetables?"

"O-okay. I'll be careful with the knife!"

Laura smiled. "I know you will."

 _Clint…I don't know where you are. I don't know if you'll make it or not. But we'll be here waiting when you come home._

* * *

Natasha awoke feeling slightly disoriented, an emotion she abhorred. She quickly shook herself and tried to determine what had jolted her out of sleep.

There were the normal creaks of the house, the sound of the wind blowing strong outside, the sound of her own breathing…

And then, a sound like a door handle turning.

At first, Natasha thought she was hallucinating, but the sound didn't stop, so she placed a hand on the knife she kept with her always, and crept out into the hallway.

In the meantime, the door squeaked open and a medium-sized, stealthy figure was easing into the house.

Natasha grinned as soon as she laid eyes on the figure. "Took you long enough. Laura was about ready to have a heart attack."

Clint jumped. "Tasha! Why the hell do you have to be so sneaky?!"

"It's part of my job. So what happened?"

Clint sighed. "Tracker got shot, broken. Emergency phone got lost in a scuffle."

"You're a hot mess, Barton."

"Yeah, yeah; now where's my wife and kids?"

At that moment, a tiny voice came from back by the bedrooms.

"Auntie Nat? Who's here?"

Clint let out an undignified choking sound. "What, Li, have I been gone too long?"

Lila gave a loud gasp and started running forward at top speed. "Daddy! Daddy, you're back! You're okay! Where were you?!"

"Classified, pumpkin." Clint muttered, grabbing Lila up in his arms. "Oh, God, it's so good to see you."

"Dad!"

Cooper came next, screeching out his room in high gear.

"Dad, you're home!"

Clint set Lila down and gave his son a hug. "'Course I'm home, bud; you think I'd miss Christmas?"

"But Mr. Coulson called and said they couldn't find you…"

"Well, my tracker kinda got broken, so I went off the radar…"

"Clint?"

Laura's low, stunned voice cut through the chaos like a knife. Clint moved forward immediately.

"Honey, I'm so sorry I'm late…"

He was silenced by a very pointed kiss and a very tight hug.

"You'd think SHIELD would have more than one tracker." she finally murmured.

"I'll mention it to Fury."

"You'd better." she kissed him again. "I'm just glad you're home."

Clint let out a long, tired sigh. "So am I. This was cuttin' it close. There's a helicopter in the back field, again. I'll move it into the woods tomorrow, early."

"The Pendowski's never ask questions." Laura said, referring to their sole neighbors.

"Yeah, well, they might have family for the holidays. It's a safety precaution. I should probably take care of it now…"

"Oh, no; you're coming to bed, mister. Now." Laura grabbed Clint by the arm. "Natasha, what time is it?"

"Four a.m." Natasha answered, peering at the kitchen clock.

"Right. Kids, back to bed for at least three hours. Let your dad sleep."

Her tone was authoritative enough that neither Lila nor Cooper dared argue. After hugging Clint one last time, they trooped off to their rooms.

"Don't worry, if they get up before seven, I'll keep them occupied." Natasha assured. "Night."

"Hey, Tasha…" Clint paused. "Thanks for being here."

Natasha shrugged. "Where else would I be?"

She went back to the guest room and Laura pulled Clint into their room. "Bed. Now."

"Yes, ma'am." Clint murmured sleepily, pulling off his travel-worn clothes. As he fell into bed, they both gravitated to each other immediately.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that." he said quietly. "I wish I could have found some way to warn you, but I only got back in country a few hours ago and I flew straight here..."

"It's alright…"

"Nah, not really. You shouldn't…you shouldn't have to worry. Besides…" he sighed. "I promised I'd be home, didn't I? And I haven't broken that promise yet."

"I know." Laura whispered. "That's why I wasn't really worried. I knew if you could make it, you'd be home."

Clint nodded, his face brushing against her hair. "Yeah…'cause I promised."

Laying there in the inky darkness, it felt like a fantastic dream. But Laura knew that eventually the sun would rise, and the dream would still prove to be reality.

Clint had made it home for Christmas—and, thankfully, not only in his dreams.

* * *

 **Ahh, Barton family feels. I love this crew, really. It was one of my favorite things to come out of Age of Ultron.**

 **There should be another chapter this week if my writing inspiration cooperates. Tune in next time for Bucky's first Christmas after Winter Soldier, complete with copious amounts of Christmas carols, sweet gifts, love, and healing. In the meantime...**

 **Reviews are wonderful things...**


	3. Heal the World with Joy

**Hey, guys; look who's back. My semester is done, which ironically makes me have LESS initiative to write, because I haven't had time to get bored with hanging around the house yet. But that will come soon...**

 **(Side Note: If you haven't seen Rogue One and you like Star Wars, GO SEE ROGUE ONE!)**

 **In the meantime, I discovered that I have a lot of feelings about Christmas carols. And Bucky. And Christmas in general. So enjoy this lovechild of all those feelings.**

 **Also, kudos to Order of the Aether for kickstarting an idea for Bucky's present. Her story "Napkins" was a huge part of that inspiration, you should check it out.**

* * *

Chapter Three: Heal the World with Joy

Christy _loved_ Christmas. Any fool with half a brain could discover that.

She liked the decorations, the food, the presents. She liked the atmosphere and the sense of goodwill that seemed to hang in the air.

But she loved the music best of all.

Christy would sing at the drop of a hat no matter what time of year it was, so having an entire season with its own special repertoire of songs was like a present itself. This meant that as soon as the calendar hit November 25, she was singing Christmas carols _constantly_.

(Steve wouldn't let her start before Thanksgiving. But any time after that holiday was fair game.)

Sam accepted it with his usual good grace, and even found himself singing along on several occasions. But it was Bucky's reaction that was most interesting.

At first, he hadn't paid much attention. It was an accepted fact that Christy was a little loud and talked a lot. But whatever she said was always _nice_ , so he didn't mind it much.

But things got _really_ interesting after he started recognizing lyrics.

 _"_ _It's beginning to look a lot like Christ-mas!_

 _Everywhere you go!_

 _Take a look in the five-and-ten, it's glistening once again_

 _With candy canes and silver lanes that glow…"_

It was late afternoon. Sam had volunteered to make dinner, so he was in the kitchen. Steve was at the bar counter and Bucky was in the living room on the couch. Christy was technically reading, but also singing quietly as she did.

Steve suddenly laughed. "You even know what a five-and-ten is, baby?"

Christy looked up from her book. "Like a dollar store, right? Where stuff costs five or ten dollars?"

"No…close. Try five or ten _cents_."

Christy abandoned her book in favor of this new information. "Five or ten _cents_? _Cents_? I can't buy _gum_ for five or ten cents and you used to have a whole _store_ for it! That's almost as bad as the five-cent giant cookie you told me about!"

"An entire store being cheap is _almost_ as bad as a cookie being cheap?" Sam asked, grinning.

"Yeah! 'Cause it's a cookie."

Steve shook his head. "What both of you fail to understand is that none of this stuff was cheap _for me_. Salaries were a lot less back then. I still remember when you could go out to eat and get a meal for seventy-five cents or a dollar."

"Okay, you better stop before you send the kid into shock." Sam warned. But even he looked a little amazed.

"A _dollar_! How come everything was so cheap?!" Christy demanded.

Steve sighed. "I am not explaining inflation to you…"

Thankfully, he was saved from that harrowing explication by Bucky piping up from the couch.

"I know that song." he said.

His voice was quiet and low. It was louder than it had been months ago, but still not the same volume as the voice Steve had known so well.

Because of this, the three other inhabitants of the floor had trained themselves to shut up whenever they heard it.

"The one Christy was singing?" Steve clarified.

Bucky nodded. "That one. I remember…" he shut his eyes. "It was real cold; I-I think snow, too. And you and me were out…with others—maybe my family. And there were lights and music…"

"Window shopping." Steve said faintly, his eyes glowing with memory. "Your ma used to love to go. I went with your family a lot."

"Everything had lights." Bucky continued, picking up speed as the memory hit full force. "All the stores and there was stuff in the windows. I wanted a…a pop-gun." He grinned a little at the irony of that childhood wish. "You wanted a pocket knife but you didn't think your ma could afford it, so I asked my dad for money—I _never_ asked him for money—and I bought it. You were so happy…"

"So _that's_ where you got the money for that knife!" Steve cried. "I guessed, but you never told me, except to say you didn't steal it."

Bucky snorted. "As if I'd stick you with a stolen present, pal."

"Uncle Bucky, what do you want for Christmas?"

Bucky almost went stock-still at the innocent question. It was a normal question, perfectly logical…

And something he hadn't been asked in over seventy years.

He frowned a little. "I…I dunno."

Christy shrugged. "Okay. Think about it. But I need to know so I can get stuff. _You too_." she added, giving Steve a dirty look. "You are the _worst_ to shop for!"

"Is it my fault I don't want much?" Steve protested.

"Yes! It makes it hard to buy stuff!"

"And how much are _you_ actually buying?" Sam asked.

"Most of it. Uncle Tony gives me Christmas money to buy stuff."

"At a much-reduced amount than two years ago." Steve added. "He gave her a thousand dollars her first Christmas here!"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Reason number five thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three that Tony Stark should never be a parent. Or at least not a _single_ parent!"

Meanwhile, Bucky looked over at Christy. "Hey, kid…you know lots of Christmas songs?"

Christy nodded. "Lots. Why?"

"You know one…I can't remember all the way. But it's kinda slow and sad. I…we would sing it in church. 'Come… _O_ Come…'"

"Oh! I know that one!" Christy shut her eyes and started to sing,

 _"_ _O Come, O Come, Emmanuel_

 _And ransom captive Israel._

 _That mourns in lonely exile here_

 _Until the Son of God appears_

 _Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel_

 _Shall come to thee O Israel…"_

Bucky's eyes were bright and he was almost trembling as Christy finished the words.

"Y-yeah." he whispered. "That one. I remember that one."

"It sounds really sad." Christy said. "But I kinda like it. It…it says that everything isn't okay, and that's real. Sometimes Christmas comes and people are sad. Bad things happen. But Christmas…it's about a rescue from the bad things." She made a face. " _Not_ Santa. I like presents. But Christmas is… _bigger_ than presents."

Bucky gave a tiny smirk. "So…if I get ya nothin', you'd be alright?"

"I said I _like_ presents!"

* * *

Later that night, Bucky was sitting in the living room, lost in thought.

He was staring at the small Nativity scene on the coffee table. According to Steve, Christy had picked it out, two years back.

Steve came out of Christy's room and smiled as he sat down next to him.

"You remember the story?"

Bucky nodded. "Bits and pieces. I…I read it a few days ago, on the internet. And I think I figured something out."

Steve looked intrigued. "Oh? What?"

"You…do you remember the day I came back?"

"It is permanently sealed in my memory, to last until the end of the world." Steve said solemnly, but with a tiny sparkle in his eye.

"Yeah…" Bucky grinned. "I ever tell you what got me into that apartment?"

"Christy found you, right?" Steve sighed. "I had a long talk with her later about talking to random strangers in alleys."

"Well, be glad she did. She…she asked me if I was looking for somebody. For some reason, I answered. And when she told me to follow her…I didn't say no. She didn't force me." Bucky snorted. "God knows that never woulda gone over well. She just…held out her hand. And I took it."

"Were you afraid?" Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. "Nah, and that's the thing. Even with you, I think I mighta been scared. But a kid? I didn't know what to do with a kid. Somethin' so small and…well, I know now she had a knife on her, but somethin' seemingly helpless…and now I think I know."

"Know what?"

Bucky jerked his head at the plastic-wax scene. "Why _he_ came as a baby." He bit his lip. "Somethin' small. Somethin' not threatening. Somethin' none of us could know what to do with. Power that didn't take…" He trailed off. "I think that's why."

"Not all the heroes ride in on white horses." Steve said wryly. "Or carry shields. Or wear gigantic shiny suits of armor that fly. I think maybe you're right."

Bucky smiled. "So. What am I supposed to get you for Christmas, punk?"

Steve gave an incredulous snort. "You being alive, back, and sane is present enough for me, jerk!"

"Not helpful. The kid was right; you are the worst to shop for. That's something that _hasn't_ changed." Bucky folded his arms and leaned back on the couch. "I'm not leavin' until you give me an idea."

"Then you're gonna have a long wait."

Bucky cocked his head and gave a mischievous smile. "I can do this all night."

* * *

He could pester Steve all night, sure. And the next night, and the next. But it was now three days before Christmas and Bucky was still in the uncomfortable predicament of having no idea what to get for his friend.

Which was why he was now pestering Sam, hoping the man could give him some semblance of a clue.

Sam was packing to head back to his parents' home for the holidays. He'd offered the others the chance to come along, but everyone had agreed that since Bucky's mental and emotional state was often still touch-and-go, that it would be better off for Sam to just go home by himself this year.

"Do you remember anything you got him before?" Sam asked, trying to guide Bucky in a helpful direction.

Bucky frowned. "Knife—when we were kids. Candy—also kids. Uh…art supplies? When I could—those were expensive…"

Sam snorted. "Dude, you know there's no need to stress about this. You could literally just buy Steve a pair of socks and he'd be happy, because they're from _you_."

"I know!" Bucky cried. "I know, I could pull something like that, and he wouldn't care. But he deserves so much _better_ …"

He paused, trying to find the right words. Sam, never one to pass up an impromptu deal-with-emotions session, waited patiently.

"He's risked everything for me." Bucky said finally. "Safety, order, a good night's sleep…I tried to kill him twice, and yeah, I know you're gonna say I wasn't in my right mind, but I still tried to do it. He had no way of knowing I wouldn't try something like that again…but he brought me home. He deserves the world."

"That he does." Sam replied, with no sarcasm whatsoever. "Knowing Steve, though, he'd probably turn down the world." He sighed. "I dunno, man. Just go with your gut. Give him something you _mean_ , maybe something you write or make…"

"I can't draw—we figured that out in the old days. What else can I do, write a sappy letter?"

"Not if you can't mean it. Speaking of writing, you still doing that exercise we talked about?"

Bucky made a tiny noise of exasperation. "I still don't see how writing down traumatic memories is supposed to help me feel _better_. I was only writing down the good ones before you told me to do all of them."

"Come on, you can't tell me it doesn't feel better having all that out of your system."

"Well…not exactly."

Sam smirked. "Look, I wouldn't be telling you to do something that wasn't gonna help. Besides, you were already writing down memories. I just expanded the process. And it'll help you deal, too. If the bad stuff's written down, you can't just will it away. You have to face it—that's the only way you'll heal."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You'll thank me later."

Suddenly, an idea exploded in Bucky's mind.

 _"_ _Give him something you mean…"_

"Actually, I'll thank you now." he muttered cryptically.

As he left the room, Sam couldn't resist another fervent eyeroll to the heavens.

"Super soldiers…so weird."

* * *

Once more, Bucky sat in the living room, bathed in the soft glow of lights from the Christmas tree, contemplating that little plastic-wax Nativity scene.

On his knees rested a battered notebook with a plain black cover. Scraps of paper poked out of the side, from before Sam had given him the book.

 _"_ _This is for you to write down everything—the good, the bad, the ugly; whatever. Just get it out of your system and onto paper. Then you don't have to worry about it going away again."_

Truthfully, he had already been recording his memories as they came back in bright flashes of clarity. The few weeks he'd been on the run, after D.C., he'd scrounged paper scraps and stolen a pen from somewhere and written down the fragments and wisps of memory that had begun to poke through.

He had hoarded those scraps like they were gold.

The black notebook was almost full to bursting now. It held good and painful and angry memories— including things he hadn't dared to tell another living soul. Not even Steve.

But that was about to change.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky fingered the notebook restlessly.

 _I need a new one, anyway. I should give it to him. I can't think of anything else…_

There had been too many nights where he'd woken up in a state of fear, and Steve had coaxed him back to reality. Sometimes he would talk about whatever had occurred in his dreams. Many times, he did not.

Steve would never push, but Bucky had seen the flash of hurt in his eyes, the unspoken question of "why don't you trust me?".

 _I don't have to do this. I can get him a pair of socks. Maybe ones with Iron Man, for a joke…_

But even as the thoughts ran around his head, Bucky knew it was useless.

"I have to do this."

He whispered the words aloud, to steady himself. Then, taking the small laptop that sat on the couch next to him, Bucky began to type.

* * *

Christmas morning found Steve, Bucky, and Christy seated around the tree, half eaten breakfast plates on their laps.

"Open this one, Uncle Bucky!" Christy said, pressing a thin, hard package into Bucky's hands.

Bucky laughed. "Alright, alright!" Setting his food aside, he slowly tore off the wrapping to find the last thing he expected (mostly because he had no idea what to expect).

Inside the package sat three old-fashioned records, all with Christmas music.

"Dad has a player." Christy said, shrugging modestly. "And I thought you might like it."

"I love it." Bucky whispered. He tugged at Christy's arm gently until he could pull her into a hug. "They're great."

Christy beamed.

"Okay." he added, sitting up straighter. "My turn, now."

Steve immediately started with a litany of "Buck, you didn't have to get me anything…" Christy just looked highly interested.

"For you." he said, dropping a square package into Christy's lap. "Since you always want Commando stories."

Christy tore open the wrapping far faster than he had to reveal a small paperback book. "'The Untold Missions of the Howling Commandos by James Barnes and Steven Rogers….'oooh! I love it! Thanks, Uncle Bucky! Did you do this yourself?!"

Steve laughed. "It was a team effort. I helped fill in the blanks."

"But we did do research, just to make sure our memories weren't skewed." Bucky shook his head. "Lemme tell ya, reading books about yourself is _really_ weird."

"But so far, there's only one copy of _this_ book." Steve added. "It was written for you and only you."

Christy stroked the book's cover lovingly. "It's great. Thank you!"

Bucky grabbed his second package, and tried to still the shaking in his heart as he turned to Steve. "Now you." he said, with more bluster than he felt.

Steve (mercifully) didn't say anything more about "not needing anything". Instead he glanced at the package curiously. "What'd ya get me?" he asked.

Bucky smirked. "Open and find out."

So Steve gently pulled back the taped wrapping paper, to reveal the little black notebook.

"Bucky…" he whispered, thumbing it open gently. "Is this…?"

"I started writing things down." Bucky interrupted, like a dam had burst inside him. "Everything, after D.C. I thought I was goin' crazy, but I guess I was really goin' sane. Sam gave me the book and told me to write down all the memories, 'cause it would help with therapy or something. I made a copy of all these, on the computer, but the book's almost full up and I couldn't think of what to get you, so…it's all there. Everything. Good, bad…HYDRA. All the stuff that's come back. 'Cause…" he forced his eyes up and into contact with Steve's. "'Cause I trust you to keep it safe."

Steve looked as though someone had smacked him across the face.

"Bucky, you don't…"

Bucky took Steve's hand and closed it over the book.

"I trust you. To keep. It safe." he said pointedly.

Bucky's face was set with so much of his old stubbornness, that Steve was left without any fight to keep arguing.

"Thank you." he said, trying to push as much sincerity into those words as possible. "So you…this is everything. You really don't care…?"

Bucky shrugged. "You said me bein' back, safe, and sane was present enough. And this…all those memories are part of me. I want you to have 'em, too."

Steve reached under the tree. "Well, now I feel like a complete heel, because there's no way this present could top…"

"It's a good present, Dad." Christy said, in a tone that suggested she was well aware of Steve's pervasive self-deprecation.

Bucky smirked. "Tell him, kid."

Christy glanced at the black book. "I probably shouldn't read that thing, huh?" She was used to "her" grownups having scary memories that weren't exactly rated PG.

Bucky nodded. "Wait a bit." he said lowly. "Just…I don't care if you read it, but a lot of stuff in there's not pretty. Read the Commando book."

"Oh, I'm gonna read that, all right!"

Steve finished rooting around under the tree and handed Bucky a small, rectangular present. "Sam told me about the notebook therapy thing, so…"

Bucky unfolded the wrapping, his eyes going wide at the item it covered.

It was a journal, bound in dark brown leather that was soft and smooth to the touch.

"I thought when the other one was full…"

Bucky hugged the book against his chest. "It's perfect."

Steve looks equal parts relieved and thrilled. "I'm glad."

"Told you he'd like it." Christy mumbled. She was already halfway down the page of Chapter One in "The Untold Missions". "Did you guys really blow up…?"

"Half of Germany?" Bucky asked, deadpan. "Yes, yes we did."

Christy hmphed and went back to reading.

"So…?" Steve grinned. "First Christmas in a while. Good so far?"

Bucky sighed in pure happiness, his eyes once more catching sight of the Nativity scene on the table. The scene somehow meshed in his mind with the image of a little girl standing in an alley…

 _Only a child could take away fear…_

"Yeah." he said, gently opening his new journal. "Really good."

* * *

 **"This is about the birth of a child, not of the astonishing work of a strong man...it really is beyond all our understanding: the birth of a child shall bring about the great change, shall bring to all mankind salvation and deliverance."- Dietrich Bonhoffer. (My current new favorite quote about Christmas.)  
**

 **The thing with the five-cent cookie is borrowed from my Dad's stories about a giant twelve-cent cookie he used to buy as a kid. It used to blow my mind that things were so cheap. Inflation's no fun...**

 **Tune in next time for the Maximoff twins trying to navigate Christmas in a new country and new home, complete with culture stress. Featuring Steve and Natasha being helpful and Clint being Dad. Until then...**

 **Reviews are wonderful things...**


	4. Children Again, Part One

**Hello, again! Merry Christmas, everybody. (And Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate, since the two line up this year.)**

 **So...I had this grand idea that I was going to be able to really write this past week, the week leading up to Christmas...and that grand idea was utter bunk. I barely had time to BREATHE. I had wanted to get this chapter and the next one I have planned out before Christmas...but that just didn't happen. And this really is a chapter in two parts, so this is only Part One of this particular anecdote. Part Two should be up sometime early this week, and will be following the Maximoffs spending their first Christmas in America with the Bartons. That chapter has a lot more fluff, and this one does, kinda...more like angsty fluff. But this is the story idea that made me consider writing Christmas one-shots, so I knew I had to write it.**

 **This is set December 2015, so the twins have been in the States for only about five or six months. If Pietro seems a little OOC here, remember that he's not exactly in a stable emotional state...**

* * *

Chapter Four: Children Again, Part One

"So…what are you doing?"

Christy jumped and flipped around in the tiny closet, coming face-to-face with a smirking Pietro. His presence made the already skinny hallway in the "living quarters" of the Base seemed even narrower.

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" she huffed defensively, upset at being caught rummaging through the closet.

Pietro's smirk got bigger as he crossed his arms and tried to look stern. "Are you not supposed to be…school?"

" _Doing_ school." Christy mumbled, sotto voce. "And I already finished. So I'm looking for Christmas presents. And you can't tell anyone!"

"It is not Christmas yet." Pietro said, kneeling beside her. "Why look for presents?" He sounded much more curious now than smug.

" _Because_ it's fun. It's like spying. Only with less bad consequences. I found one in the closet here and one in a drawer in Dad's room already. I think the one in here's from Aunt Tasha."

"And why think it is yours?"

Christy gave a dramatic eye roll. "I asked for a new knife this year, since I grew and my other one's a little small, and Aunt Tasha's the only one who would buy it for me."

Pietro shrugged, unable to counter that logic. "If you find things early, doesn't that…" He paused, a frustrated look crossing his face.

Wanda had always spent more effort learning English than he had; she had also always been better at learning languages than he had. Now, his sister's hard work was paying off, and he was stuck floundering whenever he ran out of English words to express what was in his mind.

Sometimes, he just felt like screaming at everyone to speak Sokovian. (Which would, of course, solve nothing.)

Thankfully, Christy caught the gist of his thoughts. "I don't really _look_ at the presents…not long, actually. Sometimes I just feel the bag or the box, or whatever it's in. And, I mean, I usually get what I ask for."

The innocent words sent a sharp stab of bitterness through Pietro's heart. He took a deep breath.

 _I am_ _ **not**_ _going to be jealous of a girl whose mother died of cancer. That she was adopted at all is a happy accident and it is not her fault that_ _ **Mama**_ _and_ _ **Tata**_ _died and that first Christmas after…_

Pietro swallowed and dug his fingernails into his palm, hoping the pain would clear his head of bad memories and acidic feelings.

Lately, with all the holiday talk and preparations around the base, those memories had started coming back full force.

The explosion that killed his and Wanda's parents had been in October, meaning that Christmas of 2005 had _not_ been a pleasant one for the Maximoff twins. And all the other Christmases since then had only been less awful by virtue of the fact that they _weren't_ that first year.

Christy frowned. She could sense that something was off, but wasn't sure what. "I…I'm not spoiled. I just don't ask for crazy things…I mean, I know I asked for a tiger before, but that's silly, 'cause I know Dad will never actually do that, and I think it's illegal…"

"It's fine." Pietro cut her off brusquely. "You're not spoiled. Nobody saying that."

"Nobody _is_ saying." Christy mumbled. She'd gotten in the habit of correcting Pietro's English mistakes—which usually revolved around verb conjugation of some sort.

Usually Pietro didn't mind it. But today, the feeling of irritation that had been building under his skin broke loose.

"I don't care." he hissed.

Now Christy _really_ knew something was up, but she kept pushing. (A terrible idea in hindsight.)

"Well, don't you wanna not sound like a foreigner?"

As soon as the word were out of her mouth, her eyes flew open wide. There was dead silence for a few seconds, before Christy started babbling.

"I-I-I-I didn't mean that! I just…I mean, don't you wanna sound…fluent?"

Pietro stood up, his face shuttered and stormy.

" _Ne. Nije me briga._ " he said. " _I ne znam šta da kažem. Kakav je osećaj?_ "

He practically spit out the last bit, before stalking away down the hall.

"Pietro!" Christy screamed. "I'm sorry! I'm _sorry!_ I didn't mean it! I don't care how you talk! I didn't mean it!"

Pietro didn't even turn his head.

* * *

"Dad?!"

Steve looked up to see Christy tripping into the Common Area like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Sam, who was sitting on the sofa across from him, glanced up from his tablet slightly.

Christy crashed down beside him. "I screwed up."

Steve's eyebrows went up. "So…what happened? Are you alright?"

" _I'm_ fine. But I…" Christy bit her lip and spilled the story.

As she talked, and the problem became clear, Steve and Sam started up a 'telepathic' conversation that mostly consisted of eyebrow raises, frowns, head shakes, and small shrugs.

By the time Christy had finished spilling her guts, they had reached a decision without having to utter a word.

Sam got up and exited the room. Christy barely registered the movement, she was so worked up.

"I can't believe I was so _stupid_! Why did I _say_ that?!"

"Because sometimes words come out that we regret later." Steve said calmly. "It's part of being human."

Christy blinked up at him, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. "Y-you're not mad?"

Steve sighed. "No, baby, I'm not mad at you. You said something that came out wrong; I know you weren't tryin' to be mean. I'm more worried about Pietro."

"He got really quiet when I talked about looking for presents." Christy said. Realizing her error, she added, "Dang it."

Steve grinned. "I'll let it slide. I can't fault you for something I did as a kid. But that's a good point, he's been kinda…high-strung, lately. More than usual. Wanda, too; but she just bottles everything up. I can deal with that. Pietro's just…leaking bits of emotion all over the place. I think what you said was the last straw."

"I didn't mean to. I just meant maybe he wanted to sound more fluent! I didn't mean to sound like I didn't want him here! I like him and Wanda."

"I know what you meant. I think…" Steve pulled Christy into a hug. "It's rough losing everything, and it's rougher when it's a holiday. My guess is that he's been thinking about everything for weeks, and it all just boiled over."

"I wanna fix it." Christy mumbled. "I'm gonna apologize, but I wanna do something bigger."

Steve gave a thoughtful frown. "Wanda was showing me something the other day about some Sokovian Christmas recipe…"

Christy's eyes lit up. "Do you remember it? Show me!"

Steve laughed. "Alright, alright! I think it was called…"

* * *

"I can't believe you did that."

Wanda was sitting on her bed, trying to process what her brother was telling her. Said brother was currently pacing the floor in front of her bed.

Now he turned to look at her, eyes still snapping with anger. "You can't believe I walked away from insults?"

"She is _ten_ , Pietro, you know she didn't mean anything by it! She was trying to help…"

"Oh, she _helped_ , alright!"

" _Brate_ , you're being ridiculous…"

"No! _English_ is ridiculous, America is ridiculous, and I want to go home!"

"We don't _have_ one!" Wanda yelled.

Wanda _rarely_ lost her temper, so the sound of her raised voice was enough to send Pietro into a mild state of shock.

"We don't have a home." she echoed. "We have _this_ , and now you are ruining it! We live here now, _brate_. Here, here, **_here_**."

"Well, maybe I don't want to!" And for the second time that day, Pietro turned his head and stormed out of the room.

Wanda was left feeling like a giant hole had suddenly been chopped in her chest.

 _"_ _Brate…"_ She tried, reaching out through her mind connection. But for once, there was no answer.

"You're not the only one who misses home, you know." she whispered. "You're not the only…"

Suddenly overcome, Wanda hunched into a ball and fell back on her bed, feeling hot tears burn her eyes.

 _You're not the only one that lost everything…_

* * *

Sam figured that it would take him a while to find Pietro. When the speedster didn't want to be found, he had an uncanny knack for _not being found_. Still, his hiding place managed to be a such a surprise that Sam almost missed it.

He was out in the open area behind the base that was known as "the backyard," curled in a miserable heap in Christy's treehouse.

With a sigh, and a silent thank-you that they had made that thing sturdy, Sam climbed up the rope ladder and hauled himself into the wooden box.

Pietro's head inched up enough to show his eyes, and Sam was hit with all the emotion pouring out of them.

There was guilt— _strong_ guilt—combined with a good amount of anger and sadness and…absolute weariness.

For someone who was barely twenty-one, Pietro looked unfathomably old and miserable—words Sam would normally never use to describe him.

But that look faded as a quick spark of anger suddenly kindled in his eyes.

"So? What you want? Tell me to say sorry?"

Sam very wisely kept his mouth shut. He knew what the beginning of rants sounded like.

"Well I won't! I…it's not fair! She said she gets what she wants. What about me? I just want…" the younger man buried his head in his arms again and mumbled, "I want to go home…"

 _I want to go home. I want my parents alive. I want to not feel like an outsider, an interloper…_

"Well?" Pietro raised his head again. "Go on! Yell!"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not gonna yell at you. I think you know what you need to do."

Pietro slumped. "I know. I was stupid to yell at her. I will apologize. It's only…"

Sam nodded, his face full of compassion. "I know you wanna go home. I can't even imagine…"

"It's not even like…like moving. Like going to university. People study abroad, and then go home. Me and Wanda? We're…" he gave a bitter smile. "We're _refugees_. Kicked out with no home."

Sam swallowed his desire to say, "but you do have a home" and instead let there be silence for a moment.

"Y'know." he said finally. "The guy this whole holiday's about was a refugee, too."

Pietro didn't comment, but he looked curious now, a welcome change of emotion.

Sam smiled and kept going. "Yeah. You didn't know that? He wasn't even born in his parents' town, thanks to a census, and then they had to skip the country 'cause a paranoid king decided to go on a killing spree."

"That last part sounds familiar." Pietro mumbled, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

Sam snorted at the idea of comparing Ultron to _King Herod_ , of all people…and then thought that maybe the comparison wasn't so far-fetched.

"But he came home." Pietro added. "I can't."

"Maybe someday you can." Sam countered. "But not today."

"Even if I went back…" Pietro frowned. "It would not be the same. The streets will be different and our old apartment is gone and…I can't get it back."

"No. But you can start something new here."

Pietro bit his lip and looked down mulishly.

Sam sighed. "Look. I know you said you don't have a home. But kid—sorry to be so blunt, but—what do you think _we_ are? We didn't _have_ to let you two stay at the base. We didn't _have_ to take you on vacation with us back in the summer. Clint and Laura didn't _have_ to half-adopt you guys. But the Avengers are family. And like it or not, you're in with us. _That_ means you have a home."

Pietro looked almost embarrassed now. "I know! And I don't…I'm grateful, honest! But…the last weeks have been hard."

Sam barely restrained an eye roll.

 _Well it's about time he said something, since we've only been noticing it for the 'last few weeks'!_

Out loud, he merely said, "I think culture shock has been hitting you pretty hard. Probably Wanda, too, and she's just quieter about it. There's a stage of it where you kind of hate everything about your new situation and wish for home."

The look on Pietro's face indicated that was _exactly_ what he had been experiencing.

"I thought it was just me." he mumbled.

Sam smirked. "Good rule of thumb, kid: it's _never_ 'just you'. And if you start feeling like that again, you know you can come talk to one of us."

Pietro groaned a bit. "I feel horrible now."

Sam gave him a reassuring shoulder clap. "Best way to deal with that is to come down, say your apologies, and work on moving on."

Pietro eyed the ladder. "I have to come down?"

Sam nodded. "Eventually. Can't hide forever."

He waited patiently as Pietro eyed the long drop to the ground.

"Guess I should." the younger man finally whispered.

Sam gave him a smile. "Good choice."

* * *

Natasha wasn't exactly sure how she got elected to talk to Wanda. Vision had come bursting into the training area with news that he had heard shouting and apparently crying coming from her room.

She had thought that Vision would want to speak with her, or even Bucky, but no, somehow, she'd been left with the job.

It wasn't that she was _upset_ about it, per se…but she wasn't exactly the most comforting person in the universe. More of a "suck it up and move on" type.

Still, here she was, knocking on Wanda's door and hoping this wouldn't go terribly.

"Go away!" came the tear-filled voice from inside the room.

"I'm not Pietro." Natasha called coaxingly. "Or Vision."

A pause; a sniff. Then, "It's open."

Natasha twisted the door handle and walked in. Wanda's face was red and her eyes were bloodshot.

Giving a half-smile, Natasha sat down on the bed.

"Brothers are the worst sometimes, huh?"

Wanda made a strange choking sound, and murmured, "How would you know that?"

Natasha shrugged. "I have it on pretty good authority from Lila. And…Clint is kind of a brother, and he's annoying sometimes."

Wanda smiled a little, but her eyes were still sad. "He's not the only one that misses Sokovia."

"I know." Natasha said. "He's just the more vocal one. But you've both been off, and I wanna talk about you." She grimaced. "I'm not so good with… _feelings_ , but I'll give it a shot."

Wanda sighed. "My English is good, but so much every day makes me tired. Everything is new and different…and now Christmas. But not the one I remember. Not even the same day!"

"You guys would still be on the Orthodox calendar, huh?" Natasha mused. "Same as Russia. What is it this year, early January?"

Wanda nodded. "January 7. But I don't mind that. I don't even mind that there won't be a _badnjak_ or _cesnica_. I am fine celebrating an American Christmas. But I…" she stared down at the floor and absently twisted red energy between her fingers. "I feel so dead inside. Every year, I could at least be a little happy. I would find something for Pietro, he would find something for me. We'd save for a _cesnica_ loaf, and talk about our parents, about before. But this year…I've lost too much to be happy."

Natasha nodded slowly, processing the words and the best answer for them.

"I used to think that, too." she said quietly. "I also…used to think maybe I didn't deserve to be happy, after everything I did."

Wanda stiffened immediately, and Natasha knew she'd hit the nail on the head.

"I used to take jobs on Christmas, even after I knew Clint. I thought I didn't have anyone." She grinned ruefully. "Laura finally set an ultimatum on me. Clint invited you two to stay over the holidays, right?"

"Yes." Wanda smiled. "And I am happy to go. I know Pietro is, too, even if his is being…odd."

Natasha sighed. "Point is, I eventually learned that happiness has a way of coming back, if you let it. And it's easy to let it come at Christmas, because…it comes every year. No matter what happened the rest of the year, Christmas always comes back."

Wanda nodded a little.

"Did Clint ever tell you about the whole "love is for children" thing I said?"

"Yes. It was a good plan."

"Yeah, it was part of a good plan, and it distracted Loki. But love _is_ for children, as in…it takes a child to show what it means to love with no strings attached. And Christmas…Christmas is for children in sort of the same way. It lets you be young and innocent, even for just a little while."

"I…I haven't been a child in a long time." Wanda mused.

"I wouldn't think so. But maybe this year could be different."

"Maybe…" Wanda still looked a little doubtful.

Natasha grabbed her hand. "C'mon. Let's go find the others. I'm sure Pietro has something to say to you."

Taking a deep breath, Wanda stood up, and allowed herself to be led out of the room.

* * *

Everybody eventually ended up back in the Common Area. Pietro and Sam were the last to come in, and at first it looked like a Mexican standoff.

Christy was the first one to move, getting off the sofa and sort of glancing though her hair at the taller man.

"I'm really sorry! I didn't…"

"Hey, hey." Pietro cut her off gently. "My fault, okay?"

"No, I was dumb!"

"So maybe we were both dumb…"

Christy was already biting her lip and trying not to cry, so Pietro slowly put his arms around her and gave her a hug.

"It's okay." he repeated. "It wasn't your fault."

Christy nodded against his chest. "I'm still sorry."

"Well, then…apology accepted. And I apologize for yelling and making trouble over something not meant for an insult. I'm older. I should have controlled myself."

He was glancing at Steve, as well as Christy, as he talked. Steve nodded.

"I understand, kid. It just was too much." his eyes narrowed slightly. "Just don't make a habit of it."

Pietro swallowed hard, recognizing the implicit warning. "I understand."

"'Cept your apology." Christy mumbled.

Pietro sighed and glanced over at Wanda.

 _"_ _Sestrica…I think we need to talk."_

Wanda nodded. "Come on. We'll be back later." She added, addressing the room at large.

They left and Sam flopped onto the couch. "Well, that went better than expected."

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, could've been worse. Just a lot of homesickness all boiling over. Nothing a little Christmas in the middle of nowhere won't cure."

"Or some traditions." Bucky piped up, grinning slyly. He had let others handle the emotional outbreaks, but he'd been doing his part behind the scenes. "I emailed Clint a bunch of articles about Sokovian Christmas recipes and traditions."

"But it was my idea first!" Christy added. "And that one cookie recipe looked really good…"

"Technically that one was my idea." Steve said. "But at this point it doesn't matter, so long as they can have a little piece of home."

Natasha glanced over at Bucky's tablet and gave an approving grin. "Laura likes holiday baking, and so does Cooper, actually. They'll have fun with these. And Clint can probably get an oak branch from somewhere…"

"So they'll be okay." Sam summed up. "And it'll be good for them to go to a home this year."

Everyone nodded as Bucky continued pasting links into the email, the way Sam had shown him.

Nothing was going to ruin Christmas for his friends.

Absolutely _nothing_.

* * *

 **Words cannot express how hard this chapter was to get written down. I had the basic idea in my head, but actually _writing it_...  
**

 **"Sokovian"/Serbian:**

 **Ne. Nije me briga. I ne znam šta da kažem. Kakav je osećaj?- No. I don't care. And you don't know what I'm saying. How does it feel?  
**

 **Brate- brother (When addressing someone)**

 **So yeah, culture shock. Basically, there's four stages. The first is the honeymoon stage, where everything about your new environment is great and wonderful (aka, the twins behavior in A World of Hope, if you've read that one). Next is the frustration stage, where you start to realize how different your new environment is from what you are used to, and the slightest things can trigger annoyance and fatigue. You really just want to go home at this point. Third stage is where you begin to get used to the new environment and start once again seeing positives. Fourth stage is the acceptance phase, where you begin to appreciate your environment for what it is, without constantly doing a compare/contrast.**

 **Obviously right now, the twins are in the second stage, although starting to come to grips with it.**

 **This article (take out the spaces) www. balkaninsight en / article /c elebrate -c hristmas -s erbian-s tyle has really good information on Serbian Christmas traditions. Basically, a** **badnjack is an oak branch that is traditionally left on the threshold of the house on Christmas Day, and then brought into the house that night, and cesnica is traditional Christmas bread.**

 **So, Part Two involves a lot more feels and some Barton family bonding. And less yelling. But Pietro needed it out of his system, and I needed the idea out of my head.**

 **Merry Christmas, and until then...**

 **Reviews are wonderful things...**


	5. Children Again, Part Two

**Heeeey, guys...**

 **So...I realize that this chapter is MASSIVELY overdue. Like, by a good week or two. But, better late than never, right? ;)**

 **But seriously, I am really sorry about the late update. The past two weeks have been sort of hectic, between wrapping up the holidays, and then my birthday, and then getting ready to head back to school...it's safe to say I've been swamped.**

 **Still, I hope you enjoy Part Two of the Maximoff's saga, late as it is. Again, this is set in Christmas 2015, so the twins are twenty, Cooper is nine, Lila is six, and Nathaniel is roughly seven months.**

* * *

Children Again, Part Two

"Okay," Clint said, grabbing a giant black trash bag out of his truck. "I couldn't _actually_ chop down an oak tree, so no giant log, but I was able to get some branches, and…"

He started to haul the bag onto the front porch, but was stopped by the stunned look on Wanda and Pietro's faces.

For a moment, no one said anything, and Clint felt the beginnings of worry knot his stomach.

 _Barnes did say_ _ **oak**_ _branches in that email, right? Yeah, it had to be! 'Cause we looked it up, and that's what the website said, oak branches, outside on the porch, bring 'em inside on Christmas Day…_

 _Maybe the giant log bit was more important than I thought…_

 _Oh, God, did I screw up?!_

Cooper saved everyone from more awkward silence by poking his head out the front door. "Mom says our house is gonna look like a forest, between oak branches and the Christmas tree."

"It's supposed to be like a stable, I think." Pietro said distractedly. He took a step down off the porch as if in a dream. "You bring the branches inside for fire and put straw on the floor…"

Clint shifted slightly. "Well, like I said, I couldn't get anything big enough for a fire, but these should work for decorating…"

His stuttering justification was cut off by Wanda smashing herself against him in a gigantic hug.

"Thank you." she whispered, sounding close to tears.

Clint gave a massive sigh of relief. "So I did okay, then? I thought I massively screwed up or something, the way you two were standing there."

"No, it's _perfect_." Pietro said firmly, sifting through the bag with hesitant reverence. "It's just…"

"We didn't expect you to actually find this." Wanda mumbled. She had disentangled herself from Clint, and now was standing still with her eyes shut and her chest hitching.

Clint frowned. Natasha and Steve (and basically everyone who lived at the base full time) had mentioned the scene that occurred last week.

And Clint had a sneaking suspicion that the twins' emotion had less to do with traditional Christmas decorations, and more to do with people actually caring about them.

Taking a deep breath (and shoving down some not-so-pleasant memories from his own younger years), Clint simply said, "Well, I did. Wanna show me what you do with this stuff?"

The twins gave tiny nods.

"Can me and Lila help?" Cooper asked.

Pietro gave a slightly larger nod and a smile. "Go get her."

Cooper dashed back inside, and Clint lifted the bag onto the porch. He started to gently lift branches out of the plastic confinement and laid them down. Beside him, the twins were having a hushed conversation in Sokovian.

Clint had achieved decent competency in a few languages, Russian being one of them, and Sokovian was like Russian, so he was able to make out "so much" and something about an apartment.

He smirked. "Lemme guess, you guys never had this many branches before?"

Wanda gave a half-smile back. "We lived in the city. We would buy tiny branches from street vendors."

"I always got the best price." Pietro added, pride evident in his voice.

"Bet you did." Clint said, smirk growing bigger. "So I guess I'm not gonna get any decorating tips from you guys, am I?"

"And _that_ is where I come in." Came Laura's voice, as the front door opened and she stepped out, Lila and Cooper following behind her. "I just put Nathaniel down for a nap, so I have at least two hours to help."

"Thank _God_." Clint muttered, raising his eyebrows comically.

Laura swatted his arm. "I heard that, mister." She glanced at the branches and then up at the white support beams of the porch. "We could loop them through the tops of the beams here, like garlands. Is that alright?" She looked at the twins.

They were quick to nod agreement. "Maybe by the door?" Wanda offered. "We put ours by the door."

"This one!" Lila cried, grabbing the biggest branch and propping it against the door frame like an extremely underweight scarecrow.

She looked so proud of her contribution that no one had the heart to argue.

(Secretly, Pietro thought it looked perfect.)

Clint laughed and shook his head. "I'll get some rope out of the barn. We can tie 'em between the posts."

"Be sure and get the ladder, too." Laura said. "And this year, _no fancy acrobatics_. I'm holding it when you go up."

This was in reference to The Great Christmas Decorating Debacle of 2014, which had involved Clint climbing to the very top of the ladder while alone, said ladder slipping slightly, and Clint performing a complicated backflip into the front yard "to keep from breaking his neck".

(Laura had considered finishing the job, before her anger abated.)

"I won't, promise." Clint said, walking towards the barn.

"I'll get some duct tape to keep the branch by the door from falling." Lila offered.

Pietro looked immediately interested. "I will help."

"I will watch." Wanda added sternly. Pietro had developed an unholy fascination with duct tape in the past few months, viewing it as the ultimate tool for any project—and always using too much of it in the process.

Pietro stuck his tongue out. _"Nisi zabavan._ " He called, as he followed Lila into the house.

Laura sighed, in the way common to all mothers across the globe. "Wanda, Cooper, you two can help me lay these out end-to-end. We can tape some of the smaller ones onto the poles…"

 _"_ _Here,_ _ **dragi**_ _, help me put the branch by the door. And tonight, we will all carry it in…"_

Wanda swallowed, and bent down to focus on the task.

 _I won't cry, I won't cry, I_ _ **won't**_ _cry…_

"Mom, can we make cookies later?" Cooper asked.

Laura smiled. "I think we could make one batch of cutouts, since we already have the dough, and then maybe we could try the new recipe…" she glanced over at Wanda. "That is, if Wanda's up for it. We have all the ingredients."

Almost immediately, the overpowering memory of _vanilice_ invaded Wanda's mind, and her mouth began to water.

 _So much vanilla…_ _ **Mama**_ _would save for weeks to get real vanilla, not to mention all the sugar…_

"Yes." she said quietly. "I would like that." Smiling at Cooper, she added. "They are…soft cookies. They must be made very carefully, or they break."

"I'll be careful!" Cooper promised. "I'm a good cookie baker. I like cut-outs best, but your cookies sound good in the recipe."

"They are good." Wanda said, her thoughts trailing back to the last time she'd even had _vanilice_ cookies.

 _Not last year…maybe the year before…_

Pietro's happy cry of, "Tape!" brought her thoughts back to the present, though, and she allowed herself to be drawn back into the fun of decorating.

No matter how much sadness old memories could create, she wasn't going to let them spoil the Barton's kindness.

* * *

"Okay…" Laura consulted the recipe. "Half a cup of sugar…did you get that, Cooper?"

Cooper nodded. "I poured it in the measuring cup, and I didn't spill any of it!"

 _"Unlike someone else I can think of…"_ Wanda sent to Pietro, who had been put in charge of grinding walnuts in the food processor.

Pietro rolled his eyes. _"You weren't always so neat, either, **sestrica**."_

 _"_ _No, but I never knocked an entire cup of sugar all over the floor."_

 _"_ _That was_ _ **one time**_ _!"_

Laura had meanwhile dumped the sugar and ground walnuts into the mixer, and was letting the ingredients combine.

"Alright, this looks good. Next is…okay, this goes in a bowl."

Pietro shot up and grabbed a bowl out of the cabinet, presenting it to Laura with a flourish.

Laura smiled. "Thank you. You can go ahead and put the nuts and sugar in there." As Pietro did so, she took another look at the recipe paper. "Next is the butter, vanilla, egg, and flour. Flour last, because that literally spills everywhere when the mixer is going."

"It takes so much less time with a mixer." Wanda said quietly, gazing at the gleaming white object. "Mixing by hand gets hard…" she grinned at Pietro. "Remember? _Mama_ would throw down the bowl and make _Tata_ mix it."

Pietro nodded. "She'd say, "You have muscles! Use them and help me make food for your children!'" he smiled. "He didn't argue."

"No one argued with _Mama_." Wanda agreed.

"I may have to try that with Clint." Laura said. "Cooper, can you measure flour like you did the sugar? Three cups."

Cooper nodded. "I can do it!"

"You're pretty good at this." Pietro said, giving Cooper a friendly shoulder thump.

Cooper shrugged, carefully dumping more flour into the measuring cup. "I like cooking. It's fun and it helps people…makes them feel okay. And not hungry."

"Not hungry is good."

Laura reached over and ruffled Cooper's hair. "My practical boy. Takes after his dad on that one."

Wanda nodded, remembering Clint's behavior after the Ultron Affair.

 _"_ _Wanda, did you eat something, honey? You got the clothes Natasha was gonna lend you, right? I think you need to get out of here for a bit. Pietro will wake up soon…"_

"Yes, Clint is like that." she said. " _Practical_."

"It's nice." Pietro muttered, studiously avoiding Laura's eye. "H-having somebody ask if you ate enough, or slept well, or understood something. Caring, I guess."

"That's what parents do." Cooper said. "It's not so fun all the time. Especially when mom tells me to eat Brussels sprouts." He made a face.

"You _like_ Brussels sprouts." Laura pointed out.

"They're alright, I guess…"

Just then, Clint and Lila came into the house through the front door. They had been out in the barn working on "super-secret Christmas planning."

"Cookies!" Lila cried.

"Looks like we came in at just the right moment." Clint added, eyeing the newly-made dough.

Laura rolled her eyes. "We have to actually _make_ the cookies, Clint. You cannot eat all the raw dough. Think of the example you're setting for the kids!"

"I am!" Clint smirked. "C'mon, honey, everyone knows the dough's the best part."

Laura sighed. "I give up. I'm outnumbered. Wanda, Pietro; what shape are these supposed to be in, again?"

"Crescents." Wanda said, moving to help. She took a tiny bit of dough and shaped it, picturing her mother's hands expertly doing the same motions. "Like this."

"Ah." Laura took another bit of dough and copied the movement. "Here, Cooper, you start, too. Let's see how many we can fit on the sheet."

"So, Lila." Pietro said, a sneaky grin on his face. "What did you do in the barn?"

The six year old planted her hands on her hips. "Not telling! It's a surprise. Gotta wait for Christmas."

"Tell 'im, Li'." Clint said, smirking just as bad as Pietro. "And besides, what makes you think you're getting anything more than a lump of coal for Christmas, Speedy Gonzales?"

Pietro frowned. "Why would I get coal?"

"Bad kids get coal from Santa!" Lila explained breezily. "Good kids get presents. But that's not actually true, 'cause Santa's not real…well, there was an actual guy that gave presents, but his name was Saint Nicholas and he didn't have a reindeer sleigh. Parents give presents, and even if you've been bad, you always get something. 'Cause parents love you anyway."

Pietro had tried his level best to follow Lila's dizzyingly fast explanation, but he understood the last bit clearly.

"They do." he said, a little sadly. "When I was your age, even when I was crazy…there was always something for Christmas."

"And there will be this year, too." Clint said firmly. "No coal for either of you."

"I probably deserve coal after all the trouble I caused." Wanda said softly, so lost in thought that she hardly realized she'd spoken aloud.

Laura heard the words, though. And her heart ached.

"Nobody ever actually gets what they deserve at Christmas." she whispered. "That's…kind of the point of the holiday."

"And you said you were sorry." Cooper added quietly. "That counts. And now you're gonna be an Avenger."

Wanda gave a weak smile. "That is true. But saying sorry doesn't change…"

"Nothing changes the past." Laura said. "But you have to eventually ask for forgiveness, forgive yourself, and move on. It's not easy…but it is necessary."

Wanda placed a finished cookie on the pan, and gave a decisive nod. "I know. And I try. But…" she tapped her head. "It can get very loud in here, the hate. The voices saying...I can't make up for everything."

Cooper looked very pensive. "Wanda? Can you hear stuff in my head?"

Wanda jolted back. "I…I could. But I am not now, because I can block what I hear and see…"

"But, if I thought something _really_ _loudly_ and asked you to listen…would you?"

"I…yes."

Cooped nodded. "Okay. So listen."

It took a moment. Almost physically shaking, Wanda allowed her mind to tentatively stretch out and come near Cooper's.

She was hit with a mental wave of pure, determined _goodness_.

 _I love you, Wanda! You're awesome! Don't be mad at yourself! I really like you a lot and I'm glad you're staying here for Christmas. I like having a kind-of big sister. I…I think you're really brave._

For a long moment, Wanda couldn't move.

Finally, she reached out almost blindly and pulled the boy into a hug.

"Thank you…" she choked out.

Cooper shrugged, his shoulders moving up-down against her stomach. "You're welcome."

Wanda had long ago decided that English was strange. But one of her favorite peculiarities of the language was the response to thanks.

In Sokovian, the phrase was something like 'it's nothing'. Other languages were the same. But of course, English _had_ to be the odd one…

 _You're welcome…_

Those words held so much more meaning than, 'I accept your thanks'.

Glancing around the kitchen, at the beautiful family that had thrown open their home with open arms…

'You're welcome' meant everything she and Pietro had been longing to hear since October of 2005.

Home. Family. Safety.

But Wanda couldn't find the words (in English or Sokovian) to express that. So she just hugged Cooper tighter, and tried to capture everything about the moment in her mind.

* * *

The night of Christmas Eve found the twins encamped by the Christmas tree. Wanda was staring into the flickering lights as though they were a magic portal, and even Pietro was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Do you think we got Clint and Laura the right present?" he asked finally.

Wanda shrugged. "I think so. We couldn't really do much else. We have money now, but…"

"But money cannot buy anything big enough to say thank you." Pietro finished. "I hope the kids like what we got."

"Laura helped us, so I think they should. And Nathaniel at least won't complain, even if we fail. He's too little."

Pietro grinned. "I like him. He's cute. And my namesake, so I am probably biased."

"Probably. I think he likes you, too."

Clint came into the living room in that moment, from the direction of the bedrooms. "Who likes who?"

Wanda smirked. "Your youngest is apparently enthralled by Pietro's wonderful personality."

Clint grinned back. "You sure it's not the other way around?"

"Hey, I am very…" Pietro lowered his voice. " _šta_ _je_ 'enthrall…ing'?"

"It means something or someone that makes people look at them." Clint said. He sat down on the couch and stretched out. "I can't believe all the kids are asleep. It's almost a miracle. Of course, with my luck, they'll be out here at four in the morning, grabbing gifts. Well, maybe just Lila."

"Maybe just Lila." Pietro agreed, smiling.

Clint rolled his eyes. "And how about you two?"

"I am not getting up at four in the morning for anything, even presents." Wanda said flatly.

"No, no; not that! I meant, how are you guys doing…mentally? Emotionally? That kind of thing."

The twins looked at each other in silence for a minute or so, carrying on what Clint assumed was a mental debate. Finally, Pietro spoke.

"I have…not yelled at anyone this week." At Clint's narrowed eyes, he added. "And, I feel…less alone. Less homesick. It feels better here."

"We like the Base." Wanda clarified. "We like training, we like the others. But this is a home, and I…I forgot how much I missed a home. It's different."

Clint nodded sadly. "Homes are always different. It's one of the reasons I brought the team here after that first fight with Ultron, besides the secrecy. They needed a break. And so did you." He sighed and looked at Pietro. "Sam told me what you said…about not feeling like you had a home."

Pietro's eyes hit the ground, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. "I was not thinking when I said that. I did not mean to forget…everyone has been so kind."

"I know." Clint said gently. "But listen, both of you. From now on _this is your home_ , understand? You may stay at the Base and train, whatever. But if there's trouble, you're wore out, you need to get away, you come _here_. I don't _ever_ want you feeling like you've got no place to go, understand?"

For a moment, there was quiet. Then, they both nodded.

"Understood." Wanda said, her eyes looking suspiciously wet.

Clint nodded firmly. "Good. Just wanted to clear that up." He paused, looking almost shy. " _H-_ _Hristos se rodi_."

For the second time that week, both the twins stared at him in shocked disbelief. Also for the second time, he wondered if he'd completely screwed up.

Then, shyly, Pietro mumbled back, " _Vaistinu se rodi_." Wanda echoed a second later.

Clint grinned. "Good, I said it right. I thought maybe Natasha was trolling me. Merry Christmas, guys. And…welcome home."

* * *

"Wanda, Wanda! You gotta open _this_ one!"

Wanda laughed and took the sloppily-wrapped present from Lila. It seemed to be held together with more tape than wrapping paper.

"Thank you, _dragi_." she said solemnly, before attempting to wrangle the package open.

Laura laughed and handed her a pair of scissors. "Here, sweetheart. These should help."

With the scissors' aid, Wanda managed to untangle the wrapping, revealing a cheery-looking flower crown headband.

Pietro, who was watching Cooper gush over his new Lego set (and preening because it was _their_ gift), said, "Hey, Wanda, isn't that like…"

"I know." Wanda cut him off, gazing at the tiny white flowers. "I had something like this when I was younger. I lost it…years ago."

Lila frowned. "Does it make you sad? I can get you another one."

"No, no." Wanda assured. "It makes me happy. Because now I have a new one, see? From someone I love very much." She reached over and gave Lila a hug. "Thank you."

Most of the twins' presents included new clothes, movies for Pietro, and books for Wanda. Wanda's favorite gift was a small recipe book from Laura, the first page containing the _vanilice_ recipe they'd used the other day.

And they both watched proudly as Cooper opened his Lego set, Lila squealed over the new Fairytale coloring book, and Nathaniel happily gummed his new stuffed rabbit.

"We did pretty good." Pietro said, his grin threatening to tear his face in half.

Wanda smiled back. "We did."

"Okay, my turn." Clint said. "I had to call in a few favors for this one. Not the first time my vast network of contacts has come in handy, but probably one of the more satisfying." He faced the twins and took a deep breath. "A little bird told me that when you two checked yourselves into Hotel HYDRA, they took some things from you."

Wanda went very still. Pietro gave a sharp nod.

"They told us we would get them back, when the experiment was complete." His voice cracked slightly. "They lied."

"Of course they lied, they were HYDRA." Clint muttered. "Anyway. We blew Strucker's castle hideout to smithereens, but that wasn't his only hideout. A friend of mine was over in Sokovia, and he tracked down the place where…well, go on and open this."

He pushed a large cardboard box, neatly wrapped, to the middle of the room. Pietro reached out and ripped off a piece of the wrapping slowly. Then, Wanda jumped in at a much faster pace, and suddenly the box was unwrapped and opened and…

Wanda reached in a lifted out a slightly faded pink shirt. "I…I don't even think this fits anymore."

" _Sestra_ , look!" Pietro cried, digging out several small, rectangular items.

Wanda let out a strangled cry. "I thought they were gone forever! I'd carried them for so long…"

"Are those pictures?" Laura asked softly.

"Yes…" Wanda flipped through the photos reverently. "I grabbed them out of the apartment when it…blew up. So many years, I kept them safe. And then they took everything and I thought…"

Overcome, she suddenly flung herself over to Clint and wrapped him in a giant hug. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_! And thank your friend, whoever he is!"

Clint smiled. "Oh…you'd like Phil. He's great. I'll pass on the thanks."

"My old wallet!" Pietro cried. He opened the cracked, fake-leather object. "And it…still has money in it…"

"I can look up the exchange rate…" Clint offered slyly.

"No!" Pietro gently slipped the money back in the wallet. "I'm keeping it!" He set it down and looked over at Clint.

"Th-thank…." He shook his head, his face scrunched up in almost confusion. " _Why_? Why go to all this trouble…?"

Clint shrugged. "'Cause I wanted to. And you guys deserved to have your stuff back."

"Still…"

"Still nothing. It was my privilege to go searching, and Phil's too." Clint's happy smile faded a little. "I'd give anything for a few things from my childhood. Any chance to give that to someone else…I was up for it."

Pietro gave a shaky sigh. "Okay…our turn."

He grabbed a CD with a bow on it from under the tree. "This is for you and Laura, from both of us."

Laura grabbed the family laptop, and put the CD in. The picture opened up on the twins in the Base's Common Area.

"It's on?" came Pietro's voice. Somewhere in the background, Bucky yelled an affirmative.

"Clint, Laura." Wanda said. "Thank you so much for inviting us to your house for Christmas. We…we wanted to get you something special…"

"But we couldn't think of anything good." Pietro chimed in.

"So we decided to make a CD to say thank you. It's not much, but we had to do something. So, thank you. Thank you for caring about us and including us in your family."

"Thanks for naming Nathaniel's middle name same as mine! And thanks for Skyping us and answering questions."

"We love you guys." Wanda finished. "And…that's all we can say. Merry Christmas and thank you to our American mom and dad."

"Merry Christmas!"

The screen went black. The room was silent.

"Oh, you guys!" Laura somehow managed to envelope both the twins in a hug. "I love it! I'm going to keep it forever."

"That means you're really part of the family, when she keeps your stuff." Cooper added.

Clint laughed. "No, but seriously. Thanks, guys. That…that was great." His eyes looked suspiciously wet, but no one was going to call him on it. It was completely justified, anyway.

It was Lila who broke up the sappy moment. "Mom…can I have a cookie?"

Laura sighed. "Before breakfast?"

"But it's Christmas!"

"Oh…alright, you may have _one_ cookie, _with_ breakfast, understand? You can have some more later. Speaking of which, I should start making breakfast…Clint, make sure all the wrapping paper gets picked up, alright?"

Everyone started to tackle the chaos around the tree. As they did, Wanda couldn't help but think about Natasha's words from the other week.

 _"…_ _happiness has a way of coming back, if you let it. Especially at Christmas."_

 _It does_. Wanda thought. _Even when I thought it was impossible…it does._

For the first time in years, she felt completely carefree and safe. And from the emotion pouring through Pietro's mind-link, she could tell he was feeling the same.

 _"_ _Hristos se rodi, brate."_ She sent through the link.

Pietro's response came back on a wave of love. _"_ _Vaistinu se rodi."_

 _Christ is born. Truly, he is born._

 _A child is born._ Wanda mused. _A child is born, homeless…and I am at home._

 _Maybe that was the point of it all…_

No matter what, she knew that she and Pietro would never forget this Christmas as long as they lived.

This was the Christmas, after all, where they had found home.

* * *

 **"To an open house in the evening  
Home shall men come,  
To an older place than Eden  
And a taller town than Rome.  
To the end of the way of the wandering star,  
To the things that cannot be and that are,  
To the place where God was homeless  
And all men are at home."-GK Chesterton, "The House of Christmas"  
**

 **Sokovian (Serbian) Glossary:**

 **Brate- brother**

 **Sestra/Sestrica- sister/little sister**

 **Nisi zabavan- you're no fun**

 **Dragi- sweetheart**

 **šta je- what is  
**

 **Mama and Tata- mom and dad**

 **Hristos se rodi/Vaistinu se rodi- Christ is Born/Truly He is born (the traditional Serbian Christmas greeting and response).**

 **Well, that's all, folks. Hope you enjoyed my insanely late Christmas wrap-up.**

 **I was going to post a New Year's chapter, but time really got away from me, with the start of my school semester. I tried writing the chapter, but my heart really isn't in it right now, so I think I'm going to scrap it for the time being. I will be posting at least one one-shot (if not two) within the month, but this semester is going to be really busy for me, and I don't want to write subpar fics**

 **So, be on the lookout for new postings. Until then...**

 **Reviews are wonderful things...**


End file.
